


Accretion

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [28]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien anatomy, Anxiety, Arguments, Awkwardness, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Footsie, Friendship, Hacking, Healthy Relationships, Intimacy, Intrigue, M/M, Medical Procedures, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 07:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: As Julian and Garak find a way to move forward from their experiences in the internment camp, their friends’ and acquaintances’ lives grow more complicated. The arrival of unsavory travelers provides Julian an opening to avenge a fallen comrade and Garak to collect on a debt. Quark’s new career choice in arms dealing causes friction in unexpected ways.





	Accretion

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

Careful not to lift the covers and cause a breach, Garak gently glided his fingertips down Julian’s spine, the doctor asleep on his stomach and hugging the one pillow to his cheek. He didn’t mind the thievery. He’d slept in the desert with nothing but sand beneath him and worse places still. He didn’t like the individuated knobs of spine he felt beneath the thick fabric of borrowed pajamas. Unlike him before his incarceration, the doctor didn’t have much to spare. He’d have to see to it that he was eating properly, not an unattractive prospect.

“Mmnh,” Julian sighed in his sleep and automatically turned toward the source of affection. Garak heard the pillow hit the floor and rolled onto his back to allow his arm across his chest and a leg across his thighs. He felt a bed warmed cheek settle into the hollow of his shoulder and allowed his fingers to tangle loosely into clean hair. Not that he’d ever had reason to complain of the doctor’s hygiene, but since his return from the internment camp he had been particularly fastidious.

He debated awakening him before the time Julian would need to ready himself and not be late for work or allow him to sleep. His bed-mate settled it for him, stirring and yawning widely. He felt faint, warm humidity through his pajamas, the spot quick to cool again. “Is it time to get up?” Julian murmured.

“No. You have about half an hour. You slept well?” He believed he already knew the answer as he hadn’t awakened in the night from excessive thrashing or a suddenly empty bed.

“Better than...in a long time,” he said hesitantly. “I feel like I...well, I didn’t give you much choice last night creeping in here in the middle of the night and catching you mostly asleep.”

Garak suppressed a chuckle. “Your definition of creeping is at odds with mine. I distinctly remember your chiming my door and asking me, quite charmingly I might add, if you could borrow some pajamas.”

Julian let out a soft huff and shifted to lift himself onto an elbow. Garak obliged his need for face to face conversation by pulling the lights up enough to accommodate his vision without discomforting himself. He shivered from the unexpected feeling of a finger tracing along the neck of his pajamas, nail lightly scraping scale. “You’re all right with the fact that you don’t really know me?” Julian’s voice stayed quiet and intimate. There was some insecurity in the look he levied at him, far subtler than he would have expected before now.

“I’d feel worse about it if you didn’t feel the need to ask me that.” It may have been naïve of him to think that much of the heart and compassion of the man was utterly real, foolish to think that he had shown him as much as he was able before everything went so terribly wrong. He decided he could live with being that sort of fool if it meant such awakenings. “We’ve both learned significant things about one another of late. You aren’t worried about sharing your bed with the son of Tain?”

He closed his eyes against the soft caresses of his cheek and hair, the words that were equally caressing and so frighteningly disarming. “If I had known you were the son of Tain, I’d have been afraid for you, not of you. I suppose you truly do have a lot to learn about me yet.” 

The kiss felt different than ones that came before. _A first of sorts,_ he thought. He stopped him with both hands against his jaw and gentle but insistent pressure before it could get too deep or distracting. “We both have work soon,” he said. “I don’t want to rush.”

A little breathless, Julian nodded, his smile fleet and genuine. He kissed him a final time with exquisite longing before pulling away and rolling to sit up. “Can we have breakfast, then?”

“Preferably a large one,” he agreed not only for Julian’s sake. He was famished.

_Garak’s Clothiers_

It was ridiculous how he felt like humming to himself as he puttered, and really there wasn’t a better word for it. It wasn’t as though he managed to get any work done. “Ridiculous,” he said aloud and rolled his eyes. He was acting as though he and Julian didn’t have mountains of evidence between them as to why this was a terrible idea. Was it? Hadn’t things changed significantly? 

He likely would have vacillated in his internal argument between twitterpated anticipation and cynical fretting all morning had customers not arrived. “Gentlemen,” he said with a cordial nod to both on their way in. Finneans? They were a long way from home.

“Ah, yes, greetings, kind proprietor,” said the taller of the two in an obsequious way that instantly put Garak on guard.

“Yes, greetings,” the shorter and stockier added. It was clear enough who the leader was in their interactions.

“I have a perplexing problem,” the first continued. “Something that has been plaguing me ever since our stop on Regulus III.” He thrust his hand deep into his pocket. Garak tensed until he saw two greenish fingers emerge from the bottom of his vest.

“He lost all his telbus nuts,” the second said. “He has been cranky ever since.”

“Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about the lost telbus nuts,” Garak said smoothly, “but I happen to be a very good tailor. Do you wish to leave the garment with me, or would you like for me to push you to the front of my queue at a higher cost?” He felt distant alarms going off in the back of his mind. The two of them together were entirely too choreographed, their cadence feeling like a show to distract. Were they casing his shop? He noticed how they stood, offset from one another so that he couldn’t keep a direct eye on both of them at once.

“I’m a patient man,” the first said and shrugged out of his vest. 

“He’s also a tightwad.”

Garak reached to take the garment. He hadn’t dealt with enough Finneans to be able to tell if the flash of irritation at the jab was feigned or real. “Mister...” he allowed it to hang.

“Traidy. No ‘mister,’ please. Just Traidy. The wise guy is Sorm.” He released the vest and stepped back.

Sorm frowned. “Why’d you go and do that? Does he need my name? Am I a customer? No. No, I am not.”

Leeta passed through the doors and stopped short with a quick glance at each of the Finneans. “Oh,” she said, offering them a smile, “I’m terribly sorry. I can come back later if you need me to?” She shot a questioning glance at Garak.

Traidy grinned in a way Garak didn’t like at all. “What kind of man stands between such a luscious fruit and the man poised to pick it? Me and my friend were just leaving. He’s all yours.” When he reached the door, he added, “Forgot to ask. How long for the vest? Couple of days? Not sure I’ll be here longer than that.”

“That should be plenty of time,” Garak said, regarding him with a somewhat fixed stare and one of his less pleasant smiles.

Leeta waited until both of them left the shop and the doors shut to shudder. “Ugh, gross,” she said. “I hope they don’t plan to play Dabo while they’re here. Is everything all right?”

“As far as I know,” he said with a shrug. “Excuse me just a moment.” He retreated to the back to place the garment in his mending stack and returned to her. “I thought you had left the station, not that I’m complaining about seeing you.”

Her smile shifted toward what passed for sly for her. “I obviously have not,” she said a little archly. “In fact, I wanted to invite you to dinner in my quarters tomorrow night. You can bring a friend if you like.”

“A friend?” He graced her with bland innocence.

“I honestly don’t care what you call him.” Her eyes twinkled in a look that spoke both of mischief and knowing. “You can bring him. Or not. Your choice.”

“Should I bring anything else?” he asked, too intrigued not to accept.

“You know I never turn down a good bottle of spring wine,” she said.

“Then I’ll be sure to buy some this evening. I can’t speak for anyone else, only that I’ll pass along the invitation.” After everything Julian had been through, he had no intention of pushing him into socializing, particularly with his ex if it would be awkward or painful.

She approached him gracefully and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. See you tomorrow night.” Raising her hand, she finger waved and headed back out to the Promenade.

The interruptions were just what he’d needed to get him back on track and his mind on business. Because of the uncouth comment about Leeta, he sorted the Finnean’s vest to the very bottom of his pile and took more time than usual to work his way down. Two days wasn’t too long to wait, especially for someone just passing through.

At the end of the day, he made his way to Quark’s with the expectation that he might find Julian there. He saw him seated at a table with Dax, Odo, and O’Brien, holding a data rod and talking animatedly. That was a nice switch. He decided not to interrupt them. He could approach him later about the invitation. To his knowledge, he hadn’t set foot back in a holosuite since they returned from the internment camp. He hoped it was a good sign.

Letting his gaze travel casually over the rest of the bar occupants, he saw a rather attractive woman seated alone. He was too far away to hear her exchange with Quark. Not long afterward, Odo approached the two, said something, and then left with an odd expression. There were times he wished he had a Ferengi’s hearing. He thought it would almost be worth having their ears.

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

He tried to hold to the elation he’d felt earlier in the evening from the arrival of his holoprogram despite Odo’s unexpected backing out of the fun. They needed someone else to take his role. He knew better than to invite Garak. It was possible what happened between them the last time they shared a holosuite would always be a sore spot. With things developing so promisingly, he didn’t want to do or say anything that could put a damper on it.

It was also why he was here in his quarters and not automatically at Garak’s. He needed to get over his childish reluctance to be alone in his own place. He couldn’t just move in with someone so notoriously private. They’d had no discussions about regular sleeping arrangements or much of anything else since returning to the station.

When Garak said he didn’t want to rush, maybe he meant it in more ways than one. Julian crossed his room to store the data rod until he was ready for it and noticed his comm flashing. He had missed a call from Garak? Almost too eagerly, he touched the screen. Garak’s expression was as pleasant as his tone of voice in the message. “I know it’s rather short notice. You and I have been invited to dinner at Leeta’s tomorrow night after work. I told her I would come but that I couldn’t speak for you. Let me know at your earliest convenience.” He paused and added, “You’re welcome to bring your own pajamas tonight.”

He grinned and saved the message. Immediately, it all gave over to nerves. This was all going too well, too easily. There was something he was missing. There had to be. How was it that Garak could accept him as an augment so readily when it meant their entire association had been a lie? Was he relieved instead that it meant Julian was no mere human? But if that were true, didn’t it also mean he had seen him as inferior before?

“What are you doing?” he demanded, cross with himself and heading into his bedroom to sort through his drawer for his pajamas. The best pair that Garak had made for him years ago were getting threadbare and loose at the seams. They were still his favorite. He selected them without hesitation and draped them over his arm. “Are you not happy if you’re not miserable?”

Why did he have to complicate it? What if it wasn’t complicated? What if for once, they were on the same page and better positioned to make things work than they had ever been before? What if that terrified him? What if he didn’t know how to be that close to anyone?

Laying the pajamas carefully on the bed, he smoothed them out and bit his lip. He wanted to try sleeping here tonight, truly sleeping and not pacing either his own sitting room or the entire station. Would Garak see the refusal of his indirect invitation as rejection or a rebuke? He decided he needed to find out. The sorts of issues they’d had in the past didn’t simply dissolve over a mater of a couple of weeks. He returned to his sitting room and took his place before his comm. Garak answered within a matter of a few seconds. 

“I would like to go to dinner with you,” Julian said without preamble. “I appreciate the invitation. I...also appreciate what you said about tonight. How angry will you be if I turn it down? Roberto has been telling me I need to start facing my fears.” It felt disingenuous using the counselor as his excuse, regardless of the fact that in the most literal sense, it was true. He had told him exactly that.

“Not angry at all,” Garak responded. “Know that if you change your mind, you’re welcome. Don’t feel as though you have anything to prove, to me or anyone else.”

He could read nothing off in the Cardassian’s expression. He knew that might not have been worth much if Garak truly wanted to hide his reaction. He made the decision to take him at face value absent any evidence that he shouldn’t. “Thank you. I have no guarantees that I won’t find myself at your door before the end of the night. If I don’t, try to be happy for me. It means I’ve made progress.”

“You’re stronger than you think. I’ve always said as much.” Garak inclined his head and smiled faintly. “I’ll stop by the infirmary after I get off work tomorrow night. We can walk to Leeta’s together.”

“I look forward to it.” Julian ended the transmission and left his hand in place on the screen a touch longer than necessary. It was disconcerting to feel as though Garak wasn’t toying with him when in the past such placid acceptance of a refusal would have been the beginning of payback. For all he knew, it still may have been. He’d have the chance to read him better tomorrow.

Changing out of his uniform, he slipped into the pajamas and braced himself for a long night of tossing and turning. Sadly, he wasn’t disappointed in that expectation. He didn’t sleep at all. Every time he came close to dropping off, he jerked fully awake panting and with his heart racing. He couldn’t put a finger on what had him so frightened, which was the most frustrating part of all. How could he fight what he couldn’t understand?

_The Infirmary_

His work day felt particularly grueling, exhaustion and restlessness both wearing on him and stealing his focus. He doggedly stuck to his routine, his only concession to his state of mind bringing Frendel in to consult on one case of Bolian Flu with complications. He found it easier to concede his limits these days. The lessons he had learned about pride costing others their lives stuck with him.

He found a mid-afternoon surprise in his exam room, General Martok not on his schedule. The Klingon looked much better than the last time he’d seen him, not just because he was clean. “Doctor,” the gruff soldier said.

He hoped his smile was more natural than it felt. Prickles of anxiety coursed up and down his arms and had his fingers tingling strangely. “You’re the last person I’d have expected to see here. Have you missed my prodding this much?” It was difficult to look at him and not find himself back in the barracks, feeling helpless, watching him slowly dying along with Tain.

“You helped keep me on my feet with nothing. I find myself wondering what you can do in your element.” He took a casual seat on the corner of the exam table, legs spread, and tipped his head back to expose his face to the light. “My vision is still cloudy. I won’t be of much use if I can’t look at instrument readouts without this fog.”

Julian took up his medical tricorder and began to scan. “The infection has cleared, which is good. It means you’re not sustaining further damage.” He flashed his pen light quickly to watch his pupil’s response and get a closer look at the clouding. “We can approach this two different ways. Medication, which will take more time yet be less invasive, or surgery, riskier but quicker.”

“I’m due to fly out on a mission in two days. I’ll take the surgery,” Martok said plainly.

Julian nodded. “All right. I’ll have my nurse prep you and operate.”

Martok grasped his wrist. “No. You. I don’t know this nurse of yours. I trust your hands.”

He tried to smile again, more of a grimace, and nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. “Fine. You can leave your uniform on the chair.” He turned to fetch him an operating gown and offered it over. “I still need my nurse to prep you. He’s good at what he does. I trust him.”

Martok nodded, seemingly willing enough to allow that much. Julian left the room and fetched Frendel then ducked into his office and locked the door behind him. He held his hand before him and tried to will the tremors away. He couldn’t understand it. Corneal surgery was routine and ludicrously safe. He wouldn’t need Martok fully under to get it done. He had performed well over a hundred of them in the past year alone.

“You have the tools you need,” he said aloud and balled his fists. He debated a quick call to Roberto, but what could the counselor say to help him with this? No, this was another of those situations where he needed to face his fears. _He only has the one eye. He won’t take an implant. He has already said so. If you can’t do this..._ “I know!”

The other nurse on duty called through the door, “Doctor Bashir? Are you all right?”

He quickly unlocked the door and triggered it to open. “I’m fine. Pre-surgery pep talk. I just need to get changed.”

She eyed him a little skeptically and nodded. “OK.”

To some degree the ritual of changing into his red scrubs and disinfecting helped to calm him. Training often helped any surgeon overcome pre-op jitters. He had never had them before now, always calm and confident in his abilities. Was it because it was Martok? Was his presence a visceral reminder of his helplessness and hopelessness in the camp? _If that’s the case, you need to get over it now,_ he told himself sternly.

He entered the operating room to find Frendel checking the equipment settings and calibrations. Martok lay on the table with a small monitor flashing at his temple, the light colors and sequence showing that all was well, and he was already mildly sedated. “Let’s get this over with, Doctor,” he said. “The less downtime, the better.”

“Believe me, General, eye surgery is something you don’t want to rush,” he replied, hoping for jocularity. Frendel shot him an odd glance. He ignored it and asked, “Have you given him a localized Morphenolog injection?”

“Yes, and I have a neural caliper standing by in case we need further sedation.”

“Good.” Julian wheeled his tray closer and took position behind Martok. Frendel gently settled a drape in place, leaving only the Klingon's eye and a bit of his forehead exposed. Julian took up his exoscalpel. “Right,” he said. He could feel his hands sweating inside his thin gloves.

“Doctor?” Frendel said a bit sharply.

He paused in the act of activating the instrument. “Yes?”

“Don’t you want to scan the depth of the tissue damage first?”

“All of this talking is making my ass twitch,” Martok growled.

Setting the exoscalpel aside, Julian reached for the neural caliper. Before Frendel could object, he shifted the drape, set it in place, and activated it, putting Martok fully under. “I need you to do this,” he said. “I’m sorry, I just... I’m going to take myself off of rotation until further notice.”

“He specifically requested you, Sir,” Frendel said, his voice sharper yet. “It would be completely unethical for me to perform this surgery.”

“Then awaken him and prescribe him medication,” Julian snapped. “I’m telling you, I can’t!”

“You know I’m going to have to write a report about this,” the Bajoran said, regret heavy in his gaze. “Both to the provisional government and Starfleet.”

“You’ll do what you must. As will I.” He turned to leave, tugging off his gloves and ripping off the mask and cap. After changing back into his uniform, he sat to fill out the form requesting leave from duty, sending a copy to Captain Sisko and another to Counselor Telnorri. He hoped he wouldn’t need to stay away for long. He simply couldn’t risk the consequences of trying to power through this alone. Raking both hands back through his hair, he drew a few calming breaths, made sure Frendel was officially in charge in his absence, and headed out to the Promenade. He was almost halfway to his quarters when he remembered he’d agreed to have dinner with Garak and Leeta.

Groaning, he turned around and retraced his steps, walked past the infirmary and Quark’s, and loitered outside of Garak’s shop until the tailor spotted him and beckoned him inside. “I don’t know what kind of company I’ll be tonight,” he said before Garak could ask him anything.

“I told Leeta I wouldn’t push the issue,” Garak said. “Has something happened?”

Julian shook his head. “Almost, but no. I didn’t botch a surgery or cost a man his vision, thanks to Nurse Frendel. I’m...well, I fully expect to be summoned to the captain’s office for an official inquiry into why I just took myself off duty rotation until further notice.”

Garak’s reaction was typically difficult to read, his soft hum noncommittal. “You can relax in my stock room and make yourself some tea,” he suggested. “It will give you time to think about tonight and keep you out of sight of any gawkers. If anyone contacts me about your whereabouts, what would you like for me to say?”

“Don’t lie for me,” he said. “You can tell them where I am, although I’d appreciate a warning.”

The Cardassian nodded and walked him to the back, pushing the curtain aside. “You’ll find the replicator more cooperative than the last time you were here. You can thank Rom for that when you see him again.”

Julian smiled faintly. It had been a long time since he’d last seen this part of the shop. It looked much the same except for the size of the various stacks and the colors of the fabrics. He did as Garak suggested, replicated himself some tea, and settled on one of the two stools. He went over the incident in his mind repeatedly. He couldn’t understand how he could skip such a simple yet crucial step. It couldn’t be exhaustion. He had performed far more complex surgeries in worse shape than he was now. The perplexing tremor was gone. Holding out his tea, he saw a steady, smooth surface.

He had drunk three cups of it by the time Garak came to him on his closing routine. He knew better than to try to help. He didn’t think the Cardassian’s newfound patience with him would extend to his business routine. Garak didn’t press him for an answer until he turned out the lights for the evening and drew a bottle of spring wine from beneath his counter, his only question a mild, “Well?”

“I may as well go,” he said. “Maybe it will get my mind off of things. Besides, Leeta’s food has improved by leaps and bounds from when we were together.”

“I’d advise you not to phrase it that way in her earshot,” Garak scolded him. 

The tailor gestured him out ahead of him, and they walked in companionable silence to the turbolift to take it to the h-rings. At least, he hoped it was companionable. He caught himself glancing sideways at Garak when he didn’t think he was looking. Shouldn’t they be talking? Couldn’t he share with him more details about what happened without violating Martok’s privacy? Only to arrive at Leeta’s in the middle of a heavy conversation he couldn’t have with her? No, that was a terrible idea. “No kanar?” He blurted the first thing that came to mind that wouldn’t be loaded.

“It would be rude of me to bring something only I can drink without excessive ill effects,” he replied.

“I’ve seen Leeta drink kanar,” Julian pointed out.

“Exactly.” Garak shook his head and offered him the bottle.

It was a good brand, fancier than anything he’d normally buy for himself. He found himself smiling a little in spite of everything. Garak was a generous gifter and always seemed to know what would be appropriate for an occasion. That begged the question. What was the occasion? It wasn’t that he never associated with Leeta anymore, but dinner was a bit more intimate than their recent contact. Also, he wasn’t over her refusal to return Kukalaka.

“She didn’t say what this was about?” he asked as the turbolift glided to a halt. They stepped out in tandem into the corridor.

“No,” Garak shook his head. “Something she’s happy about to all appearances. Beyond that, I don’t know.” He paused and set a light hand to Julian’s arm. “It’s not too late for you to back out. You know I’m capable of giving you a perfectly plausible excuse.”

“Nonsense. You and I haven’t had a chance to get out and socialize purely for pleasure in a long time. I’m fine.” He doubted his facade was good enough to fool him. Perhaps it didn’t need to be. If it was good enough to convince him he could do this, it would suffice.

Garak eyed him a beat longer than usual, took the bottle back, and gestured that they should resume. He rang the door chime when they arrived and stepped to the fore when the door opened. Julian followed behind and felt his smile freeze at the sight not just of Leeta but Rom at the table placing a dish. Both of them smiled broadly in greeting. “Hello, Garak, Doctor Bashir,” Rom called cheerfully.

“Hello, you two,” Leeta said. She drew each of them into a quick hug and accepted the bottle from Garak. “Oooh, pink label. Impressive! Rom, sweetie, could you fetch the glasses?” She turned back to face them, her smile all the way in her eyes. “I guess you know why you’re here. We couldn’t keep this a secret anymore. We’re officially dating.”

“You gave me good advice, Garak,” Rom piped up. He approached with four glasses on a tray.

Julian glanced quickly at Garak, feeling a pang of betrayal. He encouraged this? How long had he been encouraging this? Since before the break-up?

Garak held up a hand. “I told you what I’d tell any friend, to be bold about what you want and not to let opportunity pass you by, not in so many words, of course.”

Leeta opened the wine and poured for all of them. “You’re too modest,” she said and included all of them with her smile. “Garak is quite the matchmaker. Don’t let him convince you any differently.”

“It doesn’t always work out so well,” he said.

Julian took his glass and gulped the contents. Rom frowned. “Hey, we were supposed to toast! Uh, isn’t that right?” he asked Leeta in a softer aside.

“Yes,” she said. She refilled Julian’s glass, her look sterner. “We were. To good friends and new beginnings.”

“Cheers,” Julian said a bit flatly, raising his glass and tapping it against the others. He downed it as quickly as the first. “The food smells good.”

“Leeta cooked it all herself,” Rom said with pride. “I think she could start her own restaurant if she wanted to.”

“Are you hungry right now?” she asked, her blush pretty for the compliment. “We could go ahead and start eating.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Garak said graciously. “It would be a shame if it got cold.”

They arranged themselves at the table. To Julian’s surprise, Garak chose to sit across from him rather than beside him, leaving him flanked to either side by Leeta and Rom. He allowed the small talk to flow over and around him, decent enough at contributing just enough to seem engaged without putting too much thought into it. He wasn’t jealous. He truly wasn’t. It was just awkward and a little sad to find himself at a celebratory dinner for his ex’s moving on while his whole life was upside down.

Garak caught his gaze in a way that convinced him he truly hadn’t known about the purpose of the invitation. It eased the sting a touch. He tuned back in to the conversation when Rom mentioned Zimmerman. “I figured if he could come out and say what he wanted, then why couldn’t I?”

“I’m glad you did, or I’d be on Jupiter Station right now. I didn’t really want to go.” Leeta took a sip of her wine and a bite of her food.

“Then why did you agree?” Julian asked abruptly, his tone more pointed than he intended. He felt a sudden boot toe at his instep and had no idea whose it was, Garak’s or Rom’s. Leeta was at the wrong angle for it.

“I wanted to feel wanted,” she said, her tone matching his.

The boot toe slid upward with facile ease, nudging aside his trousers leg and making a small circle over his ankle. Garak. It had to be, or this dinner was getting far stranger than he’d thought possible.

“I never wanted you not to feel that way,” Rom cut in. “I wanted to say something a long time ago. I never thought it would matter, especially when you were with—” he cut off suddenly and drained his wine glass. “This really is good wine, Garak.”

“Of course it is,” Garak said pleasantly. “As is the food and the company. I imagine we’ll find occasion to come together more frequently now that everything is out in the open.”

Julian hissed a small inhale at the feeling of the boot traveling higher. It skimmed along the inner curve of his calf and knee, teasing the sensitive crook. He took a big bite of porli fowl in the hopes of disguising his reaction. He felt mostly annoyed, although he couldn’t deny there was a growing thread of arousal beneath it. Why was he suggesting a repeat of this when it should be obvious he wasn’t enjoying himself?

“Oh, I hope so,” Leeta said. “That would be a lot of fun. We could do a couples’ nights out. It’s a shame Aroya closed up.”

“A couples’ night?” Julian asked. “What makes you think Garak and I are—” The foot suddenly landed squarely in his lap, the pressure insistent through his uniform. “Together?” It came higher and more breathy than he’d have liked. He tried to shove his foot aside to no avail.

Leeta glanced at Rom and then Garak, looking embarrassed. “Oh, oh, I’m...I’m sorry. I assumed, well, I mean I’ve heard that you’ve been spending the night together again.”

Garak and Julian said in perfect synchronicity, “Dax.”

Leeta’s blush deepened. “That’s what I get for gossiping, I suppose. I’m really sorry if I’ve made things awkward.”

“We could still go out,” Rom said. “Friends and a couple. That wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“No, it wouldn’t,” Garak agreed.

How anyone could use a hard boot sole for such a wicked tease, Julian was sure he didn’t know. He found himself agreeing aloud in the hope it would persuade him to ease off a little. Did he truly expect him to endure this throughout the entire dinner without letting on anything was amiss? He squirmed slightly and shot a quick glance at their hosts to be sure they didn’t notice. He shouldn’t have worried. They only had eyes for each other when the conversation died down so that everyone could eat.

Garak looked damnably unflappable and as though he was enjoying every bite of his dinner without any other cares in the world. “You know,” he said, “I believe that Rom is right. You could open a restaurant if you chose. Have you considered it?”

It took everything in his power not to rock into the up and down tracery of boot toe against his growing erection. He fumbled his fork and caught it before it could hit the plate, making a show of interest in her response.

“I think for now it would be too much work,” she said, glancing from Garak to Rom. “It’s difficult for us to find time to spend together. If I owned a restaurant and was one of the main chefs for it, we’d never see each other at all.”

“I could maintain all of the equipment, but then I wouldn’t be making any money except for what went into the business,” Rom said. It sounded to Julian as though they had already had this conversation with each other in private.

“Excuse me for a moment, will you? I need to use the refresher.” He pushed away from the table and the maddening tease to hurry toward the back. The sight of Kukalaka seated on the bed angered him. He wanted his damned bear back. He considered just taking him and shoving him down his uniform jacket, only to reject the idea outright. It would be obvious, and it would cause a horrendous scene.

Once behind the closed door, he adjusted himself more to comfort and splashed a bit of water onto his face. When he met his reflection, he realized two things. Garak probably believed that he was helping him by distracting him, and he sorely needed distraction. He could get past the weirdness of all of this eventually. He could probably even come to enjoy Leeta’s and Rom’s company together. It was too much on top of everything else he was trying to deal with right now.

Leeta had rightly criticized his inability to be open with her when they were together, Garak, too, in his own way. He straightened and squared his shoulders, patted his face dry, and headed back out into the living area. They wanted open? Then they could have it. “As much as I appreciate the fact you went through the trouble of making us dinner, and as much as I would like to be happy for you both, I need some time to take this in.”

He shifted his focus from Leeta and Rom to Garak. “As for you, I would love for you to take me home if you can tear yourself away.”

Leeta frowned, looking more hurt than angry. Rom, however, seemed to get it. “A lot has happened lately. We wanted to help take your minds off of it. I guess we didn’t think it all the way through.”

Garak hadn’t yet taken his eyes off of Julian, his look...admiring. Only then did he break the eye contact and turn his attention to their hosts. “I believe I speak for both of us when I say it was very kind of you to think of us, and the food was delicious.” He pushed back from the table. “ _I_ am happy for you and believe you are a lovely couple. If this is the last invitation, I will be cross with you.” He stood and inclined his head to both of them, stepped around the table and gestured ahead to Julian. “After you.”

“Good night,” Julian said politely and stepped out the door.

“I hope you know—” Garak began once they were alone and heading back for the turbolift.

He cut him off with a hungry kiss, teeth raking his lower lip and tongue thrusting. He inwardly smirked at the feeling of Garak’s arms stiffening and flailing before they lifted to clutch him in a tight embrace across his back. He bore him against the side of the corridor between doors and closed every centimeter of space between them, melding against him and grinding hips to hips. He refused to allow him to speak until he was ready to come up for air.

“If you don’t want anyone thinking we’re together, you’re not helping your case,” Garak said, sounding breathless.

“I don’t give a damn what they think or what they say,” he growled. “All I care about is you in my quarters tonight. We’re taking them back. We’re taking every last surface that bastard walked on, or oozed across, or touched in any way. And when we’re done, I’m sleeping in _my_ bed, preferably with you, but that part is up to you.”

“Normally, I’m no fan of honesty. Somehow, it suits you better than it ever did me.”

Tangling his fingers in his grip, he tugged him along in his wake and didn’t let go in the lift, not even when it stopped for an engineer he vaguely recognized but didn’t know by name. He watched the man assess them and quickly look away in subtle disgust, not embarrassment. He wondered if it was the fact Garak was a Cardassian, he an augment, or some combination of both. He noticed Garak’s reaction mirrored his, silent defiance and faint contempt.

They stepped off on his level first and left the man behind. He clutched Garak’s hand tighter all the way to his door. Before keying the code, he tangled his fingers in his thick, sleek hair and drew his head back for another of those searing kisses. Pressing him against the door, he allowed the weight of his head to pin his grip. Garak stopped him from opening any of the hooks of his tunic with a tight, implacable clench of his fingers together. He smiled against the questing mouth. Good. This wasn’t to be a repeat of his former passivity when things were so broken between them.

He keyed the code without having to look and shifted his weight so that he wouldn’t topple Garak backwards into suddenly opened space. They crossed the threshold with the door hissing shut in their wake. “Computer, lock door,” he murmured against willing lips. This time he met no resistance in opening the thick tunic, one he remembered well enough not to have difficulty in finding every hook and eye.

Their knuckles brushed one another, and their hands got in each other’s way between them working open tunic and jacket. Their laughter came breathless and subdued. They didn’t step apart at all until it was time to tug off Julian’s turtleneck and Garak’s microfiber thermal shirt. In the space of a breath, they came back together, skin to scale, and it was electric. He moaned a low sound that caught between their mouths.

Pushing Garak back toward his sofa, he assisted a controlled tumble to the cushion only to straddle him and pin him between his body and the back of the seat. He kneaded corded neck ridges with both hands shamelessly until he coaxed soft, strangled sounds of pleasure from his lover and felt the familiar sensation of an emerging bulge where there had been none seconds prior. 

“You know, if you played Kotra the way you reclaim territory from your enemies...” Garak gasped.

“Shut up, Elim,” he murmured humorously. “If you’re thinking about Kotra, I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

“You have no idea how often I think of Kotra.” The retort was so pert and so very Garak he found himself laughing.

He brought both palms to a cup against his cheeks, thumbs dipping inward to trace gentle lines down his long dimples. “Lights down to six percent,” he said. The room plunged into deep shadow. It felt so good to have control of it. He had been powerless to affect the environmental controls in the camp. “You know I’ll only consider that a challenge to distract you.”

“Then it’s fortunate you have a propensity to rise to challenges.”

“I like the sound of that.” He trailed his fingertips down the ridges of his chest and ribs, across the front of his stomach and over the tight weave of his trousers. He could feel the heat of him through the fabric and a hint of dampness that he knew would grow the longer they engaged. Making a point of taking his time, he traced the shape of him with two fingers much the way he’d done to him at dinner with that evil boot.

He slid lower to nip along his jawline and inhale the musk of his arousal from the base of his neck scales. He knew if he could see them, they’d be darker now, slick and shiny. Funny how over time, the sight had come to be something he found unbelievably arousing. Garak offered him the flat of his palm to grind against. He obliged without hesitation, his body trembling on each thrust forward. In slow increments, Garak gave over more to thrusting, too, rocking upward against his teasing pressure. The harder he sought him, the less he gave him, smiling against his throat the moment he could tell he was onto his game. “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with what you did at dinner unscathed.”

“It was for your benefit.” Garak’s outrage rang hollow in the darkness. 

Julian chuckled and bit him beneath the ear in the way he knew he liked best, a full body shudder his reward. “Come on,” he said, drawing away and standing. He took him by his hands to pull him up after him. “We’ve conquered the couch.”

Leading him to the dining table, he pulled a chair out and sank to a seat before him. Immediately, he reached for Garak’s trousers to open them and tug them down to his thighs. He left the thin thermal undergarment in place. “Lean back on the table. It’s sturdy enough.”

“I remember,” Garak said. His efforts to sound prickly cost him. Julian could tell. He smiled again.

He raked his teeth slowly over the fabric, starting at the base of where the bulge emerged from twin ridges and working his way upward. Garak’s breath hissed sharply between his teeth. Strong hands gripped Julian’s curls. To his credit, he didn’t shove or pull. It felt more as though he needed something to hold to that wasn’t a hard, cold surface. He could taste him through the delicate garment, smell him. It was exquisite. 

This was his place. Regardless of how things turned out for them ultimately, tonight, this was his lover. He wrapped the stretchy fabric in his grip to pull it taut and ran the flat of his tongue from root to tip. “Is it the dining table you truly seek to conquer next?” The question was so breathless he felt an instant thrill of triumph.

“What do you always say? Strategy within strategy? How like you to complain even when I listen.” He chuckled low.

“That was a complaint?” Garak’s following vocalization was inarticulate from the direct pressure just beneath his slit.

“My mistake.” He rolled the garment down from the waistband and tucked it out of the way. “Lights up to eleven percent,” he added. He wanted to see this as more than shadow and glints of light on impossibly slicked flesh. He was just at the edge of color vision now, could see the blue of Garak’s eyes fixed on him. He held the look while leaning forward and thrusting his tongue into the tight opening. He had to work it in, allow it to spread and cup the thick base of the dark shaft.

Garak released his grip with one hand to fumble for the tabletop, his legs temporarily buckling before he managed to catch himself. “Cruel to force me to endure this standing,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I hope you’re not expecting mercy.” He stood then, turning him with firm hands to face the table and encouraging a lean. 

“I gave up any hope of expectation of reading your intentions the moment you returned from the refresher, my dear. I haven’t been disappointed.” He wasn’t entirely pliant. He braced himself on his palms rather than bending flush to the surface.

“Nor will you be,” Julian said confidently. He reached around him to fill his palm with his thick lubrication, his other hand busy at his own trousers and underclothes, perfunctory and taking them down only enough to get them out of his way. He coated his cock thoroughly, groaning. If he wasn’t careful, he could come far too easily. It had been way too long since he’d had him or anything like this on his terms.

He knew what he was expecting, which was precisely why he didn’t do it. He tucked himself into the deep juncture between his legs instead, able to do something he could never do with a human male with such intensity, grind and press upward until his ridge just brushed the base of Garak’s slit. Before long, the Cardassian was bucking and thrashing beneath him, his breath coming in loud gasps and desperate vocalizations.

Leaning over him stomach to back, he wrapped both arms around his ribs and chest, his mouth tracing hot, wet ciphers across smooth scale. He could have finished both of them just like this and likely would’ve if he didn’t have unfinished business here. He drew away so suddenly Garak gasped and cursed him for it.

This time there was no need to pull him anywhere. Garak pursued him with single-minded intensity into his bedroom, and there was some doubt as to who would wind up on top for a good few minutes of contested grappling that left both of them slick and smeared with each other’s pre-cum. He had his way in the end, not from brute force or pleading, but from the simple fact that he needed the control more that night and had no intention of acceding to Garak’s attempts to wrest it from him.

Face to face and buried inside of him, he finally felt some of his desperation beginning to recede. This was his room, damn it, his bed, his lover, his life. No one was going to take anything away from him so easily again if he could help it. _You saved me,_ he thought, swimming in the depths of the blue gaze that relented to him tonight. _It’s what we’ve always done, saved each other._ He kissed him with the depth of feeling he’d always wished he could show him and had to hold back. He broke it only to whisper his name, “Elim...” 

A warm flood across his belly and chest spread between them, seemingly called forth more by soft endearment than all of their other efforts combined. He held tighter to avoid sliding too much and finished with deep, hunching thrusts that left him drained and too sensitive to move again until his breathing and heartbeat evened to a more languid rhythm.

If he thought they were done for the night, it was because he underestimated his lover’s stamina and utter skill and determination with his clever tongue and because he couldn’t be completely sure the changeling hadn’t availed himself of his shower at least once. When they fell into his bed for the last time that night, sleep came well earned, and he didn’t awaken until he heard his comm chiming some time early the next morning.

Garak heard it, too, awakened at the same time if not a bit faster. “Whoever it is, they’re persistent,” he said. “I think you had best take it.”

When he saw who it was, he couldn’t disagree. He had expected this call earlier. Pulling his robe around his shoulders more tightly, he answered. “Captain,” he said, “I’m at your disposal. If you’d prefer to do this in person, can you give me about fifteen minutes?”

_Garak  
Garak’s Clothiers_

Telling himself not to fret was easier said than done. He’d heard and seen nothing of Julian since his summons to the captain’s office that morning. Julian put a brave face on it. He could still tell he was concerned, too. Declaring himself unfit for duty was bound to have hefty consequences. He might have felt better about it had he known what prompted the move. Something serious, or just an example of Julian exercising conscientious caution? There had been nothing cautious in his actions last night, far from it.

He had too much experience with him to read too much into it, regardless of how it had seemed on the surface. Julian could run hot one day and cold the next, especially when under stress. There was nothing about the night before that he regretted or didn’t enjoy. It didn’t mean he was prepared to share his door code or leave his slippers in his closet. 

He returned to his mending pile, seated where he could keep an eye on his door. It annoyed him to be so close to the Finnean’s vest. At least Traidy hadn’t returned or contacted him to nag about his lack of progress. There had been a time he was so busy he turned new customers away. He considered revisiting the policy.

Customers were sporadic that day. He made the decision to go ahead and finish the vest so it would be off his mind and something he could set aside. If the two didn’t intend to rob him, what might they be up to instead? Was it time to dust off old skills and put them to use? Two holes, a little more than finger’s circumference. He stitched them up and lifted the fabric for a sniff. The telbus nut story was true, or rather, he was in the habit of keeping them there. Whether he had lost all of them before his arrival was impossible to verify.

He smelled something else, faint and acrid. Had someone been a violent, naughty boy? Had someone vaporized someone else at close range? It was a scent he knew well. It had been a while since he’d traipsed through Odo’s systems. Maybe he was due.

Rather than taking his lunch at the Replimat, he decided to lunch in. Locking the shop, he retreated to the back, replicated himself a zabo steak, and settled onto a stool in front of the ancient comm system. He stretched his fingers with several soft cracks. The sudden comm chime made him jump. His annoyance for the interruption evaporated at the sight of Julian. The doctor leaned close to the screen, craned his neck over both shoulders, and whispered, “Meet me at Quark’s in five minutes.” He gave him no time to agree or dissent, disconnecting.

Food could wait. He recycled it and headed over to the bar. When Quark saw him, he nonchalantly retreated into the back room behind the bar and left the curtain open slightly. Morn and a few bored looking day shift Dabo girls were the only occupants in sight. Adopting the same nonchalance, Garak stepped back into the work area and passed through the curtain. Julian sat hunched over Quark’s private system.

Quark eyed both of them. “If this is illegal, not that I’m asking, I want you to know that if I get dinged, I’m spilling every last detail about how Doctor Bashir contacted me, how much he paid me, and the fact that you’re involved, too.” He pointed a stubby orange finger at Garak.

“He’s not involved,” Julian said, sounding distracted. “I need his advice about something, but he has nothing to do with this.”

“Right,” Quark said, rolling his eyes. “However you want to play it. As long as you know I’m not going down for either one of you or protecting you if you trip an alarm.”

“You believe we’d ask you to do any such thing?” Garak scoffed and crossed to Julian’s side. He fixed Quark with a pointed look until the Ferengi retreated to the front.

“How illegal is this, exactly?” he asked Julian once they were alone. “Do I need to make sudden travel arrangements?”

Julian frowned and sat back, turning to face him. “Not illegal. More like...unsavory.”

“Consider me intrigued.” Garak drew a stool closer and took a seat. “Should I be encouraged to see that you’re not confined to your quarters or the infirmary?”

“We can discuss that later. I promise. For now... I need your help. It’s about the Orion Syndicate.”

Garak felt a flash of irritation. “I understand this may be hard for you to believe; however, I can tell you in no uncertain terms I have no dealings with criminal organizations. You’d probably be better served by paying Quark more than you already have and letting him help you.”

“Quark testified against the Syndicate recently. Not only can’t he help me with this, if he were to try, he would be putting himself at undue risk. Have you ever heard of someone named Draim?”

_Testified against the Syndicate?_ Quark was more reckless than he’d ever imagined. He frowned and shook his head. “No. Julian, this isn’t one of the times when I fill your head with tales to throw you off the scent, steal a runabout, and fly off to a clandestine rendezvous. This is where I tell you I have nothing to do with the Syndicate, and I _want_ nothing to do with the Syndicate.”

“Not even to out a Founder?”

“Damn you.”

“That’s what I thought.” Julian told him more of his time in the internment camp. 

Garak listened closely, dismayed at how foolhardy he had been for such a small payout. He couldn’t blame him for not trusting Tain or believing that whoever he contacted would have his best interest at heart. But to pin all of his hopes on a criminal, a geneticist, and two Tal Shiar spies? _Romulans? You’ve never truly listened to a word I’ve said about the dangers of this life. Just when I thought you were making progress._

“Let me get this straight. O’Brien and Dax contacted you after you talked to Captain Sisko because they blew an entire _terminal_ trying to decrypt a data rod. You’re onto some unrelated lead with the organization and want to get a communication out to the right person about this Timor Branagh without incriminating yourself or calling undue attention from the Founders?” He supposed he knew why he had called him now. He didn’t have to like it.

“Yes. I know the Syndicate is a vast network. If I shoot in the dark, the Founder will catch wind of it well before he can be dealt with. Nothing would stop him from coming here.” Julian sighed.

“I’ll need time. How long did Quark say you had to use his terminal?” It looked like he’d be keeping irregular hours at the shop again. He couldn’t leave a known Founder out there to do who knew what sort of damage, especially with Syndicate connections.

“I didn’t get an exact time table,” he said reluctantly.

“You made an open ended arrangement?” Garak didn’t bother to hide his outrage. “Go. Send him in here. I’ll deal with this.”

It seemed as though he would argue, anger flaring in his dark gaze. He swallowed it quickly enough. “I know I deserved that.”

“Pray you never get what such carelessness deserves.” He waited in tense silence for Quark. He would have preferred more time to consider what to do, especially with the calculating look the Ferengi gave him. He didn’t have time for a protracted negotiation. He opened with the best offer he intended to give him, better than he deserved. “Leave me to it until I’m done, and your debt to me is paid in full.”

Quark’s slow grin reminded him of his first and last foray into deep sea fishing on Prime. “Why the rush? I’m sure if it’s that important to you, you can sweeten the deal.”

“So you agree we’ve reopened negotiation,” he said sharply, a fixed look in his eyes. “Double the interest you’re paying me now, and you have half the time, or I’ll bring the case before Liquidator Brunt.”

“This is why I hate doing business with Cardassians, you and your eidetic memories. Don’t you dare start quoting the Rules of Acquisition at me.” He threw his hands up. “Fine. I agree to your first proposal, but I still say if you trip an alarm, I’m telling Odo everything.”

“That’s more than fair. It’s in your interest not to let anyone back here to interrupt me. If I get distracted and make a mistake, Odo will be the least of our worries.” He turned toward the terminal, pleased to see that the technology was far more up to date than what he had in his shop.

“Our worries?” Quark shook his head and started backing away. “Oh, no. This is all on you and the doctor. If anyone other than Odo gets wind of this, you sneaked your way back here behind my back. I can be very convincing when I need to be. I’d wish you luck, except it will probably be more entertaining for me if you fail.”

He pointedly ignored him, letting out a soft breath when he heard the curtain drop back into place. This promised to be far more delicate than a traipse through Deep Space Nine’s system with an ancient terminal. He decided that he may as well start with this “Draim,” Julian mentioned. It was always easier to have a definitive port of ingress than blindly cast a net, and he strongly suspected that if he tried to latch onto Branagh’s name directly, he’d trip an alert.

Draim was a nastier piece of work than Garak expected. It seemed he had his answer about why the Finneans on the station raised his hackles so quickly. As interesting as it might have been to follow that trail to its natural conclusion, he didn’t have the luxury. He spun off into another web of connections, delving deep into alien systems with security protocols that put him thoroughly through all of his paces.

How long he sat in the cramped office, he didn’t know. He couldn’t afford to look away or take a break. Much of what he worked to breach had timing sequences. It wasn’t until Lovok’s name came up in an innocuous account ledger that he found his first big break. After that, it was a matter of following and picking up the pieces until he came upon more recent transactions. “There you are, Not-Branagh,” he murmured. “What have you been doing lately?” Until he knew that, he didn’t intend to tell Julian or anyone else what he’d found.

He would rather drink an entire barrel of root beer than pore through the minutiae of other people’s accounting records. He decided the doctor would owe him after this, aligning interests or not. It was subtle, the game this changeling played, never enough skimming from any one account to raise serious flags, targeting businesses from far-flung areas of the quadrant. Many times Garak lost his trail altogether until he found a record somewhere unexpected that connected back to the gaps.

Why so many remote mining colonies, though? He had to branch into side research on the production values from each mine, what their primary source of yield was, how that could relate to Dominion interests. He blinked owlishly at Quark when the Ferengi stuck his head through the curtain and said in an irritated voice, “I’m about to close the bar, and no, you can’t stay here without me.”

He beckoned him closer. Looking as though he expected a trap, Quark slowly approached and leaned to peer over Garak’s shoulder. His mouth dropped open. “This guy is good. He has skimmed enough to fund half a fleet if he had a mind to do it. What is all of this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Garak said.

Pressing his lips together, Quark reached behind himself to draw another seat closer. “Let me watch, and you can take all the time you want.”

Not ideal, but it would do. It was preferable to having to try to get back to where he was from his quarters. No doubt a repeat breach of some of these systems would trip an alarm and have assassins on their way to the station in droves. For all he knew, he may have already triggered several alarms without realizing it. It was a hazard of this sort of work. “Just don’t talk to me,” Garak said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He shot him an irritated side glance and dove back into his concentration. Trying to hack into any Cardassian system for information was out of the question. With the Dominion now using his homeworld as a base of operations in the Alpha Quadrant, no one and nothing coming from Prime could be trusted. He did know of other people who had conducted extensive surveillance and research on the enemy. It went against every instinct to follow through with this. For every rule, there were always exceptions. Motioning to Quark that he should sit back and move further away, he encrypted a transmission with a foreign code he knew to be a couple of decades out of date and waited.

It wasn’t long before a familiar face showed on his screen. The Romulan looked both surprised and suspicious. “You? How did you obtain that encryption sequence?” she asked.

He leveled an even look at the screen.

“I should have known better than to ask. What do you want?” Sela looked much better than the last time he’d seen her on the runabout.

“You owe me a favor. Luckily for you, I believe you will find it a palatable one. Prepare for another encrypted transmission. I need you to compile all of that data and extrapolate the most likely use for those materials by the Dominion. I don’t have access to the resources I’d need to do it myself.”

“Where are you?” she squinted past him.

“Somewhere secure.” He sent everything he had on the mining operations and just enough of what led him there to bait the hook. He had yet to meet a Romulan without a taste for revenge. He saw her look down and to the side then watched her eyes quickly scanning something off screen. 

He knew that she understood the moment her eyes snapped back to focus on him, her thin smile a cruel curve of harsh features. “You’ll have your answer within two hours.”

He imagined he’d have more than an answer. In fact, he was counting on it. “And you’ll have my gratitude,” he said, inclining his head. He ended the transmission and began carefully withdrawing from every system and network he had touched. Breaking in was only ever the beginning, not the end of this sort of job.

“I know it’s serious if a Cardassian and a Romulan are collaborating,” Quark said. “If I wind up dead from this, I’ll never forgive you.”

“If you don’t, you’ll have the rest of your life to gloat about how easily you escaped your debt to me,” Garak said cheerfully. “Silently, of course.”

Quark sighed and folded his arms. “In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I hate you.”

“Among my people, that’s quite the distinctive honor, to incite such a level of passion in another. That may be the most flattering thing you’ve ever said to me, Quark.” He offered him his most pleasant smile and turned back to his work. He could almost feel the fumes coming off of him at his side. If he had to tolerate his company for the next couple of hours, he might as well get some entertainment from it.

He hadn’t finished extricating himself by the time Sela contacted him, just three terse lines. ‘Clone banks. Watch the news feeds from Sappora VII tomorrow. You should find it amusing.’ _I believe that I should,_ he thought, feeling satisfied. He finished covering his tracks, leaving a few quick and nasty subroutines behind just in case anyone started poking, then leaned back and shut down Quark’s terminal.

“That’s it?” Quark asked doubtfully.

“Indeed, with no one the wiser. I hope.” He allowed a look of uncertainty to wash over his features. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

“If that’s your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. I should have been in my bed almost two hours ago. We’re square now? No more debts?”

Garak nodded and watched him cross the room for a PADD. He tapped a few strokes and turned it toward him. A thorough read showed no surprises. Graciously, he pressed his thumb to the screen. “Good night. If you do have any issues, well, I’ll likely know before you do.” He showed himself out and chuckled under his breath at the sound of Quark activating the terminal again. He doubted he’d see his bed tonight at all.

He couldn’t get too smug. He would be light on sleep before tomorrow, too, and after the exertion of the previous night, he was feeling it. His comm was flashing when he reached his quarters, a message from Julian wearing one of those tuxedos he used for his holoprograms. He thought he should be annoyed with him for going out and playing games while he spent most of the night working with sensitive information. If he didn’t believe he badly needed it, he would have been.

Taking him at his word that he should contact him regardless of the time, he did. It privately pleased him that he took some time to answer and looked as though he had been awakened from sleep. It meant their activities last night did some good beyond the obvious. “What was so important it was worth pulling you from your bed?” he asked.

“I wanted to say thank you. I don’t care if you think I’m being overly sentimental, and I know you’ll never take a compliment graciously when it’s warranted. I’m not...good...at saying what I feel or even always knowing what I feel. I know I feel grateful.” He glanced down and back at the screen. “And that I want us to be together again. Officially. It may blow up in our faces or go down in flames. I don’t want to say we didn’t give it a chance now that certain complications are out of the way.”

He did his best to ignore the flutter in his chest as he asked, “What brought this on?”

“I had a conversation with Odo tonight. He asked me for some advice about something. I realized I should take my own advice.”

He had to wonder if that something had anything to do with the woman at the bar. He had only ever seen Odo look at one other woman that way, and it hadn’t been Aroya. “You said you’d tell me about how your meeting went with Captain Sisko.”

Julian chuffed a soft laugh. “You’re going to do this? Dance around the issue?”

He wanted to tell him he was worried that within a matter of weeks, they’d be back to where they always wound up, angry, frustrated, and wrapped in their own issues, Julian in some Starfleet crisis, he afraid for Cardassia and willing to do anything to free it from Dominion influence. He wanted to say he wanted him too much and that wanting had always led him to ruin. He wanted to ask him if he was sure. “You need this to be something named and quantified?” he asked instead, his voice sharper.

Julian’s jaw tightened, chin lifting. “Yes, Elim, I do. If you can’t or won’t do that, I’ll respect your wishes. If that is the case, then...I intend to move on, and this time, I can’t look back. I can’t do that anymore. I’ve wanted... I’ve wanted for so long to tell you everything. _Everything._ I couldn’t. Mine wasn’t the only life at stake. It’s out now. You know, and by god, there is nothing else standing between us. Not on my end.”

“Officially,” Garak said as though tasting the word across his tongue. “I can’t expect you to listen to me now when you never have in the past. If you’re that bent on career suicide and painting a target on your back, far be it from me to stand in your way.”

“Such a romantic,” Julian said, but there was a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “If you’re up for breakfast, we can talk about everything else, then.”

“I should make you wait until lunch since you’ve kept me up so late,” he said primly. He needed cover for the whirl of mixed emotions stirred by the conversation. He needed time to settle himself and put it all in order.

The doctor’s smile quirked wry. “Should, not will?”

Garak rolled his eyes. “Gloating is unattractive. Yes, yes, I’ll see you in the morning. You can meet me here at 0730. Now let me get to bed before I get testy and make you regret this entire conversation.”

He went to bed and awoke earlier than he anticipated. It gave him time to carefully dress and choose a flattering tunic he hadn’t had the occasion to wear yet, something of muted blues, teals, and black. Was this how official looked? Felt? He could tell it was different from all the other times, because there were none of the familiar barriers in place. One of his worst secrets, his most dangerous, was out, and the same could be said of Julian.

When he checked his reflection, he almost didn’t recognize the person gazing back at him with calm, accepting eyes. He caught something of Tolan in his demeanor and felt a corner of his mouth twitch gently. _Would you be proud of me?_ he wondered. There had been a time he thought he had gone too far, or perhaps was too far gone ever to entertain such a thought. He was no longer so certain.

He perched on the edge of his sofa with his hands resting on his thighs, not wanting to wrinkle the smooth fabric prematurely. Rather than run through endless permutations of how the conversation could go, he practiced one of the breathing exercises that had kept him relatively calm during his captivity. He didn’t hesitate to have the computer open his door once Julian arrived.

Standing and gesturing toward his table, he said, “I didn’t want to replicate anything before you got here. I didn’t want it going cold. What would you like?”

“We can eat later unless you’re famished.” Julian looked crisp in his uniform, well groomed, self-contained. “I’m on light duty for the next couple of days. Doctor Telnorri believes that I’ll be back to form with some rest and targeted trauma therapy. I think...I believe what happened to me the other day was specifically related to General Martok, not to my overall duties. I know you were concerned. I don’t want you to be, not about that.”

“Your Branagh problem is being taken care of,” Garak offered. “No one will ever trace it back to you or Deep Space Nine.”

The doctor closed the distance between them and reached for his hands. He lifted them both and folded them into his at chest height. “You make me want to be better than I’ve been. You make me believe I can be. I feel...normal with you. You have no idea what that does for me.”

_Do you understand that when you say such things, I have no idea what to do with them? With you?_ “I feel sorry for you having kept such poor company that of all people I’m the one to bring out any of those things in you.”

The warm grip on his hands tightened. “Elim. Once, just once, accept the compliment. You know I mean every word.”

“I do.” He glanced away, distressed. “That’s...Julian, it’s...you never listen to me when I tell you it’s misplaced. You look at me, and I have no idea what it is you think you see. I...”

The doctor released one of his hands and rested a finger against his lips. “I think,” he said very softly, “that if you could see yourself the way I see you, you would never say that again. You hide parts of yourself so well that not even you’re aware of them. I see you. It’s my hope that one day you will, too.” He slipped a hand back through his hair and pressed them in together forehead to forehead. Garak nearly gasped aloud at the intimacy of the gesture. “You see me just as clearly. You have from the start.”

He leaned in very slightly, lips parted. He felt a commingling of breath, smelled the soap fresh scent of recently washed skin. A shift of angle brushed nose to nose, a closer press mouth to mouth, the softest of brushes of lower lip to upper. He let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. “All right,” he whispered. “I’ll try.” He’d try to see what he claimed he saw, despite believing he was deluded. It had to be a better way than the one he’d followed for far too long. 

“It’s all anyone can ask,” Julian said. He turned his head to press them cheek to cheek and gave a final squeeze of his hand before stepping back.

He felt a wash of relief. That was almost too much to bear. “I am famished,” he said. He wasn’t sure if Julian believed him or not. He was kind enough to act as though he did.

Later, he almost forgot to switch on the news feed at the shop. It wasn’t a surprise to hear about the explosion in a rundown warehouse district. Officials blamed the power company for cutting corners with their fuel source and corrosion of some of the mains. Few were more skilled than Romulans at making assassinations look like accidents. There was one less Founder making trouble for the Alpha Quadrant. He looked forward to sharing the news with Julian.

The next few days brought more good tidings on several fronts. Traidy never picked up his vest, difficult to do when on his way to a prison sentence with the Idaneans. Julian’s return to full duty bolstered his confidence, his surgery returning Odo’s mystery woman to her true physical form successful. Although Garak could tell Odo was hurting from losing someone he allowed himself to care about, it also seemed Odo’s confidence grew from the experience. He had to wonder what that meant for his feelings for Major Kira. Would he speak up now, or continue in his indefinite holding pattern, something he knew all too much about?

He found himself tentatively able to say that his life was regaining a semblance of normalcy, the sort that he wanted for himself rather than anything he had to accept in quiet resignation. Julian’s colleagues either stayed out of or tacitly supported their reconnection. Perhaps they recognized that things were more complicated for an augmented human than simple attraction, or perhaps they were as tired of the back and forth as he had finally become and felt like the least said was the best said. For once, he decided he wouldn’t question why things were going well. He’d do his best to enjoy it.

_Julian  
Quark’s Bar_

After watching Miles’ third botched dart throw, Julian had enough. Seriously, what was he thinking bringing a baby into a bar? He had sympathy for his plight in dealing with Kirayoshi’s clinginess. It was hard enough for two parents to handle babies at that age. It was much harder when one was on Bajor and the other still had a full-time job to do. “Honestly, you need to find a new sitter,” he said. He had already scolded him about his shoulder. He didn’t want to be a nag.

“Y’ say that like it’s the easiest thing in th’ world,” Miles scoffed. He shook his head and abandoned the dart game. “May as well go back to my quarters. All this noise isn’t going to make him sleep any better, assuming he tries.”

Julian nodded. He didn’t mind the redirect from the dart game under the circumstances. He laced his fingers loosely behind his back while they walked and did his best to be understanding. It was hard sometimes. He had enjoyed their friendship more before the baby. It felt selfish to think it. Of course, he’d never voice it aloud, not to Miles or anyone else.

“You’ve seen how he is right now. Every time I set him down, he’s wailin’. There aren’t many people willing to tolerate that. Besides, I don’t want him crying for hours. It can’t be good for him.” He sighed and shifted Kirayoshi to rest against his shoulder. “It has to be a phase, right?”

“Likely,” Julian said. “It couldn’t hurt to bring him in for a thorough examination. I’ve never had the chance to look him over. There could be something the...changeling...missed.” He grimaced in distaste. He hated the topic and avoided it when he could. This was potentially serious enough to warrant it.

Miles’ face creased with worry. “Why didn’t I think o’ that?” he asked. “He could’ve left something out of his exam on purpose!”

There it was again, the urge to ask him how he didn’t know it wasn’t him, the wedge that was slowly growing between them through no fault of Miles’. “Then it’s settled. You’ll bring him in, I’ll have a thorough scan, and we can go from there. I still think you need to find a backup babysitter. How about Nerys?” He knew that she still struggled with not seeing Kirayoshi as often as she’d like. She didn’t have to say it for him to see it.

Miles shook his head and stepped into the turbolift. “We work too similar hours. Besides, he cries with her th’ same as he does with everyone else. I think it upsets her.”

“Probably so.” He frowned in thought. “How about Ziyal?”

“I don’t know. D’ you think she’s had any experience with babies? Livin’ in that labor camp, I wouldn’t think she’d know much one way or the other.” His grip tightened slightly on the baby, making him squirm.

“Only one way to find out. Ask.” He privately wondered if it wasn’t Miles’ over-protectiveness that led to Kirayoshi’s anxiety. Babies fed into such things instinctively. 

“All right. I will. You’re as bad as my mother sometimes wit’ all your nagging. Don’t think I don’t know this is about my shoulder.”

Julian rolled his eyes, annoyed. He followed him off the lift and to his quarters, all the while asking himself why. He didn’t want to have one or two polite, quiet drinks while Miles held his son and fretted, either aloud or silently. He didn’t want to have to force more small talk or cast about for another topic like the holoprogram. He didn’t want to ask a question he wasn’t ready to hear the answer to.

Once they were inside, Miles gestured at the sideboard and moved to take a seat on his sofa. “Help yourself. I’m fine.”

Dutifully, Julian crossed to the tray and poured himself a Scotch. He took a seat on the chair and eyed the two. “You both look tired. I shouldn’t stay.”

He frowned. “Y’ve been doing this a lot. Leavin’ as early as you can whenever you can. If I thought it was about Garak, I wouldn’t be saying anything. I don’t. Y’ haven’t been right ever since you got back from that internment camp. Before you get huffy with me, I’m going to remind you how persistent you were with me after my prison sentence. I think I have the right to ask this.”

Leaning forward, he set his glass on the coffee table. He was right. He had the right to ask, and he had the right to know. They had been through too much together for continued deflection. “If you really must know,” he said, hating the underlying petulance in his tone, “it’s about the changeling. It’s my understanding you spent the most time with him. I suppose I don’t understand how you of all people couldn’t tell something was wrong, that it wasn’t me.”

“Thinkin’ back on it, I should’ve known,” Miles said, nodding. “You’re far more annoyin’ than he was.”

Julian jerked in surprise and hurt. He hadn’t expected that kind of response. He was in the middle of hurriedly standing when Miles added, “I was jokin’!”

Kirayoshi started fussing, working himself up to a crying jag. Miles stood and bounced him, but he kept his focus on Julian. “Y’ think I don’t feel bad about it? Y’ think I haven’t been asking myself over ‘n over again how I missed it? He acted just like you. He moved like you, talked like you, said th’ same sorts of things you say, knew th’ things you knew. They fool family members of the people they impersonate. I get why you’re upset. I probably would feel the same way in your shoes. All I c’n say is I’m sorry. I can’t think of a single thing he said or did that raised my hackles. But even if he had? All of us have off days. Would you want me thinkin’ you’re a Founder every time you misremember a birthday or don’t laugh at one o’ my jokes?”

“I never forget birthdays,” Julian said. “And your jokes are terrible.” It still stung. He thought it was going to sting for a while yet. However, getting it off his chest deflated a large portion of the resentment, and Miles had a point. “I...suppose I should have said something about this earlier. I just...” He shrugged helplessly and leaned forward for his glass to down a swallow.

“I’m glad you said it now.” He sat down again with the baby settling. “Not the part about my jokes. That was jus’ hurtful. Not to mention untrue.” His eyes twinkled. “Th’ rest of it. Lettin’ things fester, that’s the sort of thing that breaks friendships.”

“You sound like Roberto,” Julian said, feeling a smile tugging.

“That’s no accident. You been keepin’ up with your therapy?” Some of the mirth left his eyes.

He nodded. “I have. It’s helping...I think. Some days are better than others. You know how that goes.” It felt strange being on the receiving end of this sort of concern rather than the one offering it. Strange, but not necessarily bad. He felt more of his resentment give way, and when he looked at Miles, he saw how tired he really was and how hard he was trying to keep things together for his family. Expecting that things would be just as they had been before the birth of the baby was childish. He deserved better than that.

“I do. I’m glad you’re stickin’ to it. You’ve been through a lot. Seems like it never stops sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“I think we all have our time in the wringer.” He polished off his drink and stood to take the glass to the recycler. “I’ll be happier if we can get some sort of resolution to these rising tensions with the Dominion. There are times I wish we’d never discovered the wormhole, but I suppose no one wants to live through troubled times. It’s much preferable reading about it all from the distance of history and playing silly games in the holosuite.” He didn’t turn around to face him until he could be sure his smile was genuine. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right.” He glanced down at the baby, his eyebrows lifting and voice dropping down to a whisper. “He’s asleep. Give me five to get him down, and I’ll at least toast you a proper good night.”

He nodded and waited for him, agreed to a final drink, and joined the toast with the feeling they actually had something to celebrate. They’d passed through a difficult spot without either one of them saying things to regret or apologize for later. He determined he would not tell Garak he had been right about this. He could get entirely too smug about such things.

On his way back to his quarters, he saw Dax stomping down the corridor with both fists balled, and after a moment of hesitation, he called after her, “Jadzia! Wait up!” He trotted to catch up to her. 

She started in before he could get a question out. “Did you know Quark has decided to take up arms dealing on the station?” she demanded, her face a mask of barely suppressed fury.

“That’s completely illegal,” he said, frowning. “I can’t imagine Odo would ever allow it, much less Captain Sisko.”

“He’s using the holosuites,” she snapped. “There hasn’t been an official ruling on it one way or the other yet. I just found out. I’ll tell you this much. As long as he’s decided that’s his new low, I won’t be setting foot in that bar again. I hope you won’t, either.”

“Of course not,” he said without having to think about it. “Let’s hope the provisional government puts a stop to it before it gets out of hand.”

She nodded tightly before her expression relented a bit. “I’m sorry. This isn’t about you. I’ve been meaning to ask you lately how you’re holding up. Ever since that Idanean investigation, it has seemed like if I’m not busy with something you are and vice versa.”

“You wouldn’t be fishing for information about me and Garak, would you?” he asked warily. He wouldn’t put it past her given the dinner conversation with Leeta.

“I’m allowed to worry about you, aren’t I?” she asked, nudging him with her shoulder. 

“And if I say things are different now—” 

“Then I’ll say that sounds nice, but please be careful. We’re talking about a man who has physically attacked you and tried to kill you, Benjamin, Odo, and the entire race of his people. I’m all for being open minded and understanding about inter-species relationships, obviously. I just worry when it comes to him, and I always will.” She wrapped an arm at his waist to walk with him toward her quarters.

He allowed it and looped his arm around her shoulders. “I suppose it will sound like making excuses for him if I say he wasn’t trying to kill me or the captain when he tried to kill the Founders?”

She shot him a flat glare.

No, he had known that wouldn’t fly. “I’m going to get a complex, all of my friends worrying about me like this.”

“Who else is worried?” she asked, widening her eyes.

He chuckled. “Nice try. And for your information, that other conversation wasn’t about Garak at all.”

“Well, if we are worried, it’s because we care. You don’t get to be the doctor all the time.” She fell silent for a bit and changed the subject. “Have you heard anything from your parents?” She asked it more hesitantly than the rest.

“My mother has sent a few recorded transmissions. Her way of respecting my space without abandoning me to my own devices, I suppose. I’m not ready for all of that. I didn’t speak to either of them for years for a reason. Having the whole mess out in the open isn’t going to change that overnight.” A small part of him worried he wasn’t being fair to his mother. He had always carried that guilt inside. He had no idea how to change it.

“It doesn’t have to. You’re the one who gets to decide when or if you want to talk to them again. I hope you know I have your back. I realized I never came out and said that definitively. Worf says I get too wrapped up in my own life sometimes.”

He didn’t like agreeing with Worf. He took a breath to say he worried about her relationship with the Klingon almost as much as she seemed to worry about him and Garak. He knew it would fall on deaf ears before it left his mouth, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment between them. She was right. They hadn’t been able to spend any time together lately socially beyond a few times in the holosuite. “I suppose he isn’t always wrong-headed,” he said in a humorous tone of voice. Her shove and outraged grin were gratifying.

Also gratifying was returning to his quarters and finding a message from Garak asking where he’d care to spend the night. By mutual accord, they still maintained their separate quarters and private door codes. It didn’t seem prudent to go down the same path that had led them astray several times before. This time it was mostly sensible proceeding with frequent bouts of very satisfying, very exhausting sex followed by some of the best pillow talk he could ever recall. He invited him over and took the short time he had between the invitation and his arrival to shower and change into his pajamas.

He noticed Garak’s limp on his way into his bedroom to change and knew better than to comment on it. The fact that he and Worf were sparring regularly and not actually trying to kill each other in the process was so difficult to believe that he didn’t want to add any fuel to what he imagined to be a tense detente. When he returned, he had hot fish juice waiting for him and a welcoming smile for him to join him on the sofa.

This was so nice, the opportunity to talk about their day, both of them involved in enough to make the conversation interesting and worthwhile. He could sense it in Garak as well, his relaxed posture, the animated light in his eyes for the lies he spun about outrageous customers and his “invigorating,” exercise with Worf, in which he, of course, emerged the clear victor yet again.

When he’d had enough of pretending to believe it all, he simply leaned in and kissed him quiet. Before it could get heated beyond the point of no return, he murmured between kisses, “If I had known how this could be, I’d have turned my life inside out a long time ago and just told you everything.”

Garak snorted. “Only to have me walk away at your imprudence and recklessness. No, my dear, it had to happen the way it happened, all of it, or neither of us could be here right now. Let’s not lie to ourselves.”

Julian laughed and tucked his face in against his shoulder, leaning into him and shaking his head. “You have to know how ridiculous it is every time you say, ‘Let’s not lie.’ I’m finding I can’t argue with you, though.” He could easily see it having gone exactly the way Garak said if he’d just confessed. “Are you ready for bed?”

“Only if that isn’t a euphemism for sleep.”

“I think you’re well aware it’s not.” Still smiling, he reached for his hands and tugged him up. “Shall I be gentle?”

“Don’t you dare,” Garak mock growled.

_Garak  
Quark’s Bar_

He supposed that things had been going too smoothly. At some point or another, he and Julian were bound to come to loggerheads. The fact that it was over Quark was a bit galling. Still, he was there now, and it was the principle of the matter more than anything else that saw him walking up to the bar and taking his seat.

Quark rolled his eyes and didn’t stop his aggressive polishing of a glass. “I guess you’ve come here to gloat,” he said.

“No,” Garak said. “I’ve come for kanar actually. Blue, if you don’t mind.”

Looking skeptical, Quark set the glass down, turned, and reached for the bottle. “I’d have thought you’d be acting in solidarity with your sanctimonious boyfriend and the rest of the Starfleeters,” he said bitterly.

Garak tipped his head. “In the entire history of our association, when have I given you reason to believe I support Starfleet or share their values? Arms dealing is a perfectly legitimate pastime. The Bajoran government has given you their blessing.”

“Reluctantly.” Quark passed him his drink, still wary but with the set of his shoulders relaxing a touch. “You’d think people don’t use weapons to defend themselves,” he said defensively. “If Hagath hadn’t backed Bajor during the occupation, do you think we’d be here having this conversation?”

“Very likely,” Garak said as he took his glass. “We did both live here, after all. I doubt that would have changed by now. Do you?”

Quark sighed. “You know what I mean. Don’t get cute. A dealer isn’t responsible for what a client does with his product.”

“Not at all,” Garak agreed blandly and sipped his kanar.

“It’s not my responsibility to find out what people intend to do with the weapons they buy. It’s unprofessional not to be impartial,” he continued. “If you were judgmental of people who came in wanting unflattering clothing or say...hidden pockets...you’d never make a living.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said with exaggerated emphasis.

“Stop being so agreeable,” Quark snapped. “It’s creepy.”

It was Garak’s turn to sigh. “Then take a word of advice you didn’t solicit and probably aren’t going to heed. If you’re having to expend this much energy justifying your actions to someone who has already told you that he sees nothing wrong with them, you’re in the wrong line of work.”

Quark sighed louder and slumped, resting his chin on his fist. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“I very much doubt that,” Garak said. He took another swallow of kanar. “You know what to do. You don’t know how to do it. Have one more word of advice, then.”

Quark perked up and leaned closer.

“Carefully.” He downed the rest of his drink and paid. “Your associate doesn’t have a reputation for reasonableness.”

Quark scowled and tossed the slip into the till. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he snapped at his retreating back.

He was still pondering why he bothered trying to be helpful at all when he crossed paths with Worf on his way to the Defiant. It was still hard to imagine how or why anyone would choose to live in such a cramped space when he had access to an entire space station and someone willing to share quarters with him. The Klingon favored him with a heavily disapproving look, glancing from the bar entrance behind him and back to him again. “You should not support such a dishonorable endeavor.”

“It may not be the classiest business on the station. I’d hardly go so far as to call it dishonorable,” Garak said mildly.

“You know of what I speak.” Worf blocked his path forward and folded his arms.

Garak reminded himself that if he attacked him, he’d no longer have anyone to spar with. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he said sharply, “that if you isolate someone from every positive influence in their lives, they’ll have only one direction left to go? Or perhaps it makes you feel better about your own failings to point a finger at someone worse. You’re morally superior to a Ferengi by your standards, so it must be so. A great, universal truth. No wonder you’re such a good fit to that uniform.”

He expected more bluster and an even sterner rebuke, not the look of surprise and then unease in the Klingon’s dark eyes. When Worf spoke again, it was quieter. “I wish that I could believe that you were sincere. Instead I must assume you merely seek to rid yourself of my presence in the most expedient way possible. Pointed provocation.”

“My gambit failed. You’re still here.” Garak gestured impatiently. “Let’s assume for argument’s sake I am sincere. What good is this Starfleet boycott of the bar doing? If you drive him further into debt, doesn’t that simply make it more likely he’ll choose ever-increasingly desperate measures to get himself out of his hole?” When it looked as though Worf would interrupt him, he made another impatient hand gesture. “If you think I’m enjoying defending Quark, of all people, you couldn’t be more mistaken.

“He wants out. Whether he manages to get out or not may not matter to you at all. That’s hardly my concern, but are you truly so much better than he if you know a better way and withhold it from him?”

“What of you?” Worf sounded a bit sullen.

“I bought a drink,” he said simply and stepped around him, calling over his shoulder, “I have nothing to prove.” He didn’t bother to try to see if Worf headed into the bar or continued on his way to the Defiant. He’d had his fill of arguing with sanctimonious Starfleeters for one night. He intended to take a long bath and enjoy his night alone in his bed. Julian would or wouldn’t come around from his snit. He’d be right back in the bar the next night. Maybe he had something to prove after all, just nothing of which Worf or Julian would approve.

Whether it was stubbornness or something more, he didn’t contact Julian that night or the next day. He didn’t enjoy ridiculous drama. He resented being shunned over not sharing an opinion and refusing to agree to participate in the boycott. Odo had the sense not to bring it up with him at breakfast. Why couldn’t his very intelligent lover exercise some of that brain power he knew he possessed and do the same? Did they have to agree on everything in order to be together? If so, this was doomed to fail before ever truly getting anywhere.

He made it through his work day without much enthusiasm or enjoyment, and when he stopped into the bar after work, Quark wasn’t even there. Frool’s drinks were always watered down. He briefly stopped by Leeta’s Dabo table to say a quick hello, something he could risk in Quark’s absence, checked to see if she and Rom were still doing well, and promised them both an evening soon. He left before she had the chance to ask about Julian. He had no idea what would come out of his mouth if he had to lie.

Back in his quarters, he felt inclined to ignore the flashing light indicating he had a message waiting for him. Curiosity won over pique. Julian’s brows were knitted in the recording. He read regret in the look. “Can we please talk?”

It wasn’t the apology he wanted. Perhaps it was a start. He put a call to his quarters and felt private gratification at how quickly he answered. “I haven’t changed my mind,” he said to forestall any ill advised attempts to try to argue him around to Julian’s point of view.

“No, I didn’t imagine that you had. I...” Julian lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “I may always have difficulty when we don’t see eye-to-eye on things I find morally important. I try to think in a relativistic way when it comes to you. Most of the time I succeed.” He paused. Garak could see the visible effort it took to choose his words carefully. “I didn’t the night before last. I shouldn’t have cornered you the way I did and made you feel as though your only options were to agree or leave. My temper got the better of me.”

“I went to the bar tonight.” It was an instinct that sometimes even he didn’t understand, to keep fighting after he had concession, intentional provocation rather than also graciously stepping back. He could have handled his leave-taking better. His parting shot, in particular, was barbed.

“If that was supposed to shock me, it didn’t. Look, Elim, I’m not going to be petty and demand an apology, despite the fact that wanting one isn’t unwarranted. I’m willing to put this behind us if you are. I can’t promise I’ll always succeed, only that I’ll try not to push my values to the exclusion of yours.” The look in his eyes was clear, his posture straight. There was no sign of the anxiety Garak would have expected to see in past encounters of this nature. Mask off, then. Good.

“I shouldn’t have called you a Vulcan,” he said reluctantly. There it was again, a strange flinch in his gaze, a drawing away and folding in on himself, subtle but noticeable. It was hard not to pick at it. He decided he had done enough damage for one fight. “Would you prefer ‘computer?’”

An exasperated smile was better than no smile at all. “We’re going to have more of an in-depth discussion about this new name calling business of yours. For now—” He cut off at a chirp from his badge.

“Ops to Doctor Bashir. There has been phaser fire in Cargo Bay Two. Security is en route and needs medical back-up. Prepare to beam.”

“Acknowledged. Ready to beam now.” He had just enough time to shoot Garak an apologetic look before golden light filled the screen and left the Cardassian with a view of empty quarters.

Garak ended his half of the transmission and sat gazing at the Bajoran symbol indicating the comm was on stand-by. After another moment or two of thought, he typed a simple string of numbers and sent it to Julian’s quarters. A few hours later, when he heard his door hiss open and shut again, he relaxed in the darkness of his bedroom and allowed himself a small smile. Message received.

**Author's Note:**

> Spanning two episodes, “A Simple Investigation” and “Business as Usual”, this story is a return to canon roots and a chance for some of the characters we haven’t seen for a while to return more to the fore. No matter how much I love G/B, I’ve always loved it best in the fuller context of their friends, rivals, and all of the people who could somehow be both depending on the circumstances. 
> 
> Also, Frendel finally gets his own tag, long-suffering bit player that he has been.


End file.
